Strawberry Gashes
by LiliumGates
Summary: People shouldn't enjoy pain or anything related to it. That's not a normal thing to do.. But I guess I'm not exactly a normal person. TW: For suicide talk, depression, and self-harm.


I was nine when I began harming myself.

I can't recall why I started. It began with little things like scratching my hands or banging them against objects. It was never too hard, not hard enough to leave a serious wound. I remember once I bruised my hand and it hurt for days afterwards, but a part of me was content because I hated these hands so much. If it weren't for them I wouldn't have these horrid powers...

When I turned fifteen it got worse. I started having nightmares about that day.. They were vivid, horrible nightmares but I never told anyone. It's not their problem. This was all my fault, I deserved it. My anxiety began peaking above levels that were normal for my age. This made me do harm myself even more often, more severely as well.

I preferred scratching as it made less noise and my hands wouldn't swell. Even with my gloves it'd be noticeable if that happened, and it hurts so much less. My hands was covered in scratches, big and small. Some painful and red, others scabbed over. I didn't mind. I never cared much for appearances – I only kept them up because it would be unsightly for a princess to be otherwise – so in a way I was thankful for the gloves.

I soon started becoming an empty shell of what I once was. My skin was paler than usual and always seemed so dry. I had no energy anymore but I couldn't stay in bed all day. That wasn't a suitable thing for a princess, even a crummy one like me. On a good day I'd drag myself to the library and on a bad day (which seemed far more common) I'd stay in my room. No one noticed of course. It wasn't absurd by any means for me to be huddled up in my room for weeks on end.

Dark, heavy bags grew under my eyes, made worse by my ghastly skin tone, but of course no one saw them but me. I had very little contact with my parents in those last years – my brain told me they were just too busy, and I was older now so I didn't need them as much, but my heart kept telling me they hated me and were ashamed on me – but the few times we did meet they didn't seem different from usual.

Mother (it hurts to say but I have a hard time calling her "Mama" anymore) always gave me that sad smile.. I hated that smile. She was always a woman of few words, preferring to communicate through facial expressions and gestures, but her lack of affection hurt. I bet she gave Anna so much more..

I hated myself for being jealous of my sister. What had she ever done to me? She was the most perfect human I had ever seen; and she'd berate me if I said this, the most perfect I likely ever will. She never shunned me, never thought of me as different.. Yet I had this hatred in my stomach. Was it aimed specifically at her? Was it aimed at my parents? _Me? _These feelings made my stomach ache but they wouldn't go away no matter how much I tried to rationalize everything.

I thought about doing it after my parents died.. Ending my life, that is. The thought had been lingering in the back of my head for years now – I could stop this pain easily, I could stop being such a burden so very easily – but it wasn't until then that it became serious. I was such a disgusting, selfish monster. I deserved the pain but Anna didn't. Not her.. Not ever.

Anna was the main reason I didn't commit suicide. I thought of her. She'd make a great queen one day, that wasn't the issue. Right now she was just a child, a child with no real experiences in the world. I used to see her in the library when I was younger and I have no doubt she still goes there now (though the selfish part of me likes to think she started doing it less as I became more introverted) but books aren't as accurate as they try to be. You could read about something but hands-on experience is best. It was all my fault she was sheltered. I could imagine her, an only child, running in the forests and making so many friends around the village... If only I hadn't been born. Anna recently suffered the death of _both _of her parents at this young age think how losing her sister would be. I had hurt Anna enough already.. Still I spent many nights imagining it would be as if nothing had changed.

I'll never forget the night I hit rock bottom. It was a cold spring night and I couldn't go to sleep. I had tried but woke up after a hour. I was in too much anguish. Why my parents, why not me? They had an entire kingdom, they had Anna! I had huddled in my bed and didn't notice the ice freezing around me until my sheets began to freeze stiff. I was fed up with this.. This.. Everything, just everything! I don't really recall what happened but I grabbed an icicle (had I created it at that moment or was it just lying around?) and stabbed myself in the leg.

Suddenly all my fears and worries vanished, the only thing my mind cared about was the blinding pain and the insufferable cold. I normally didn't feel much cold, my tolerance had always been far better than others (it sometimes made me wonder if I was even human), but this struck me to my core.

I left it there for a few seconds before ripping it out. My rational mind reeled, thinking back to medical books and wondering if it was such a good idea. Wouldn't I bleed out? I grabbed for something, anything, to tie around the wound. As I looked at it I was entranced by the red blood against my pasty skin. The blood was wet and cool.. Was this how I felt to others? Was I just a cold, stoic being no better than a corpse? Normally this would send me into a wave of contemplation and malaise but in that moment the pain was still too raw. All I wanted to do was make it go away.

I fell asleep more quickly than usual that night. I can't remember the dream well other than it left me in shivers in the morning. Looking down on my sheets they were were soaked pink and had a faint, unpleasant smell. I decided to say it was a particularly bad menstruation if one of the servants asked.. No one asked.

The incident scared me for weeks but eventually it happened again. I took note of the feelings it gave me that time. It was an unusual feeling, painful yet exhilarating. It was better than the quiet numbness I usually felt.

I began crafting the icicle to me more effective for its task. I didn't want anyone to note all the blood so I took extra precautions, hid bloodied rags and kept watch on the blood. I mainly did it late at night when no one was awake. I began studying medical books just in case.. Sometimes I'd make something of a blade with the ice. It was less large than an icicle, much more fragile to the touch. Simply gliding it across my skin provoked the red liquid I saw so much lately to come out. It made me feel so much more than I was used to.

Yet hours later, after the blood had been cleaned away and the wounds were dry, I'd always feel sick to my stomach. _Normal_ people don't enjoy hurting themselves, normal people don't enjoy pain at all. What would my husband (the thought repulses me but I know I have no choice, it is my duty) think of all these repulsive little scars? How could I explain it to him?

Sometimes I wouldn't wound myself for months on end then this one little thing would provoke me. I stopped doing it around the time my Coronation was due. It was good, I had thought, since such behavior was unfitting for a queen.

I thought I got over the pain on that cold, summer day. I thought I could be free now. I had Anna by my side. We could chat, eat together, go for walks outside.. I should be happy but I'm not; the toles of being a queen and adjusting to these new situations impacting me more than I'd expected.. I did it again a few days after I came home. Instead of feeling the usual relief I felt worse. Anna kept on flooding my mind. I'm such a selfish person. I have almost everything I could ever want yet I feel such agony.

I don't wear my gloves anymore. Thankfully I had stopped hurting my hands years ago, instead preferring places that weren't seen by most, so there was nothing noticeable unless you stared long enough.

Anna doesn't seem to notice. If she did I'd know; Anna isn't subtle and I know she doesn't keep secrets well. I don't know what I'd do if she did. I imagine there'd be a lot of tears but from which of us I'm uncertain.


End file.
